


Promepolis Psycho

by menkhusteeth



Series: Promepolis Psycho AU [1]
Category: Promare
Genre: American Psycho, Kraylio nation stand up, Other, The business card scene you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menkhusteeth/pseuds/menkhusteeth
Summary: I and ao3 user @ devilmand/kebaby's minds...Kray Foresight = Patrick Bateman only Kray is infinitely better. No murder just Kray being a pompous asshole yet we love him. I owe it to devilmand/kebaby for reviewing + answering my questions cause I've only seen Promare once.KRAYLIO NATION PLEASE RISE
Series: Promepolis Psycho AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848913
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Promepolis Psycho

**Author's Note:**

> I and ao3 user @ devilmand/kebaby's minds...Kray Foresight = Patrick Bateman only Kray is infinitely better. No murder just Kray being a pompous asshole yet we love him. I owe it to devilmand/kebaby for reviewing + answering my questions cause I've only seen Promare once.
> 
> KRAYLIO NATION PLEASE RISE

My name is Kray Foresight. I am an executive employee of the Promepolis Official Bank, specifically monitoring a department that examines investments of the bourgeoisie’s enterprises in our humble city.

An extravagant spectacle, at night is when the skyline truly shines. Skyscrapers are tall, sporting many windows tinted in various shades of light yellows and vibrant greens. The streets, often tightly packed with cars of various models and brands, is a normal happenstance. Our sidewalks are kept distinctly pristine so as to entice consumers to have a look and shop around; regardless of how long they intend to stay. Though our environment is highly urbanized, we also boast impressive landscaping. All of these factors boost business for our native corporations, who then turn to myself to seek guidance in acquisitions of ma-and-pa shops, and brands that would be better off pried away from their competitor’s hands.

Here at the Promepolis Official Bank, I have a handful of co-workers. To say I am tolerant of them is a compliment, but I understand they feel the same way about me. In the end it is all a game: to feign a smile and shake hands, exchange pleasantries even though we mutually dislike one another. Yet if we were to admit such a fact it would only complicate our corporate environment. We flaunt off the finest suits, the finest business cards, the most intricate of presentations to subtly jab amongst each other, playing a tango as old as time. It’s the closest we can get to understanding how we truly feel towards one another.

Earlier this morning, my secretary Heris had informed me of a weekly business meeting. I had just entered my office and listened to voicemails from clients, particularly concerning a recent investment made by a well-regarded clothing brand. Unfortunately the previous night I had spent dealing with a certain bratty fiancé left me exhausted, and quite frankly, unwilling to participate. As always, I pulled myself together with the last of my mental strength and smiled. “Ofcourse,” I began. “What time is my appointment?” 

“10 AM, sir.” She replied, looking over her notes. “You’ll be done at 11:25.”

“Wonderful,” I motioned for her to leave with a subtle gesture of my hand. “I beg you kindly to inform me of any messages left for me when I return.” With a puzzled expression and a blink, Heris quickly nodded and gave a small bow before she left me be. I spent the rest of my morning going about the usual routine--quick follow-ups, looking over legalities sent to me by various attorneys--it kept me occupied, and I nearly forgot my appointment. When the time came to leave the peace of my office, a sinking feeling filled my gut. I took a breath and made my way to one of our building’s numerous meeting rooms.

Sitting with my hands folded on the table before me, I ignore the gentleman at my side--Remi. Though he is a handsome young man, I cannot help but notice a loose strand of teal hair sticking out from his finely combed bangs. The side of my mouth twitches as he begins to speak, oblivious to this physical imperfection he could so easily fix if he’d let me speak.

“Foresight, what blazer are you wearing?”

I perk up significantly, and I flash him a modest smile. “Oh, this, why it’s only a Givenchy Single-Breasted Floral Jacquard--”

Before I can finish, I attune to the perky voice of Galo Thymos. He enters the meeting room with relaxed strides, eagerly conversing with Lucia. Though I am unfamiliar with their exact positions within the company, I know enough about the two to determine I merely tolerate them. 

Thymos is dressed in a navy blue Tom Ford O’connor based suit that adequately frames his shoulders and thin waist; however I can’t help but notice crinkling and folds. Clearly, he has not taken adequate time to iron-out the wrinkles. How despicable, I think to myself as a subtle twitch of my brow gives away my irritance.  
On the other hand, Lucia has taken great care to iron her white blazer, yet wears an atrocious Banana republic pencil skirt that offsets the pristine porcelain sleeves with a tacky red. Her blonde hair would certainly be much more appropriate if it were flat-ironed and allowed to roam free, yet instead she has tied her hair into two equal buns and desecrated the voluptuous locks with pink highlights. How unprofessional.

Lucia takes her seat across from myself and Remi, while Galo gives her a playful pat on the shoulder. He waltzes on next to me, resting his elbow on my shoulder. “Good morning, Kray! You look sleepy. Rough night?” The blue-haired male flashes a grin, his eyes shining with excitement and youth I could only find myself internally scoffing at.  
This “simple” gesture of conversation invokes a feeling of dread within my gut; yet I force my trademark synthetic smile and try to ignore the calculation for the cleaners. I’d hate for Galo to wrinkle my jacket, a gift of apology from the same fiancé that had kept me up nearly all night.

“I slept just fine, thank you. My alarm happened to go off earlier than anticipated.” I reply, attempting to move and knock Galo’s elbow off of me. Whether or not this works, I do not know as Galo places his hands behind his head, leaning back and stretching.

“That’s good to know! Say, how’s Heris?” Galo asks, resting his elbow on the table. It’s a careless gesture, but given the state of his clothes, I decide to drop the matter. The side of my mouth twitches as I try to ignore Ignis entering the room--a man I have many qualms about.  
“She’s simply wonderful.” I reply. 

Ignis looks to myself and Galo through his shades, and I can feel my knuckles pop in their sockets as I squeeze my clasped hands together.

Ignis and I are significantly bulkier than our co-workers, but I have a much more refined sense of style whereas Ignis would rather let his blazer be unbuttoned, his pants sagging. Though we both have blond hair, mine is significantly lighter and carefully groomed; whereas Ignis would much rather wake up and use his fingers to comb his hair back. He doesn’t even bother to use hair gel, let alone matte finish pomade! 

I come to my senses, realizing Ignis has engaged Galo in trivial conversation. The focus is no longer on me. Galo’s voice both high and riddled with excitement chips away at my eardrums. It reminds me of an annoying insect I can’t seem to swat away.

“Thymos, I heard you had some new cards.” Ignis outstretches his meaty hand towards the blue-haired male expectantly.

“Oh-!” Galo blinks, fumbling with his breast pocket until he pulls out a stack of cards that smell both fresh and crisp. Ignis helps himself to a single card, examining it closely. Despite his demeanor, a subtle lip twitch gives him away--he’s thoroughly impressed. “It’s Trajanus.” Galo grins, clasping his hands behind his back and straightens his posture.

Now I can’t help myself. I find myself staring at Ignis’s hand, desiring to snatch the card for myself to drink in the finely printed name--Galo Thymos. Given its scent, I can’t help but imagine the warmth of the paper within my palm.

My thoughts are immediately interrupted by Galo mentioning reservations at Porsia, a luxury restaurant scheduled for this Friday. “Porsia?” I can hear the awe in Remi’s voice.

A frown graces my lips. How in the world could he manage a reservation? Even I myself have failed to gain an allocated slot when planning a nice dinner for myself and Lio. 

Porsia, a new experience for fine dining. From rumors circulating around the office; I could gather that it is a high-class restaurant with polite staff and adequately trained chefs; supposedly boasting three Michelin stars. Due to its high demand among our city’s upper-class, it’s nearly impossible to book a reservation--even in advance. How in the world could Galo Thymos convince a host to book him? I’m biting into the wet flesh of my cheek, kneading it with my sharp, pristine teeth until I taste droplets of metallic blood.

Unable to withhold my contempt, I reach into my own breast pocket and pull out my own business card, gently sliding it across the table to my peers.

Remi lifts himself up from his chair, hands on the table as he leans over to get a good view. Both Lucia and Biar’s attention have been caught, but Biar is much better at hiding her admiration, as Lucia’s jaw hangs open.

“Obsidian font?” Remi asks, turning his body to face me. Letting out a chuckle, I merely shake my head. “Cillian Braille. Bone-coloured paper.”

Ignis notices our little competition, and takes it up as a challenge. “Romalian type-font.” Practically slamming it into the table, I find myself adjusting the crooked card and taking in a vital detail--I can’t help but notice his cardstock is eggshell.

Though impressed, Remi seems to withhold mine with higher regards; yet Lucia is easily swayed to the enemy.

“No, no.” Biar’s eyes bore into me as she reaches for her own card. “I can commend your taste, Foresight, but I have chosen a pale nimbus background, which in turn enhances the raised lettering of my position, telephone number, and name..” Once she places the card on the table, I find myself sinking my fingers into my palm. This competition has turned against me considerably, and even Biar has managed to win Remi’s regards.

“Impressive, Biar. Very impressive.” I force myself to smile. My temple pound with the increased beating of my heart, a passionate flame of envy washing over my body. 

“Mind if I share?” Galo pipes in, and he immediately places his own card on the table--yet unlike Ignis, he’s much more gentle.

It’s...beautiful.Though the cardstock is white, I am able to tell there is an offset colour although I am unable to pin it’s exact undertones. The lettering is tastefully thick, with a Copperplate Gothic font. Despite the ludicrous typeset Galo’s name is bolded and justified in the center of the unwrinkled stock. Even his fax number, office telephone--both are equally spaced and placed equidistant from his name and position within the company. Galo’s imprinted watermark takes up the left of the card--and it’s that subliminally important detail that sets me off.

Undoubtedly so, I am engulfed with rage. My jaw clenches, hollowing out my throat, my foot tapping impatiently on the carpeted floor. I feel I might break the skin in the palm of my hand with how white my knuckles are, digging my nails into the smooth palm of my hand. First Porsia, and now his card--everyone’s favourite?

“Kray? Kray--? Is something wrong?” Remi whispers, eyes filled with panic. The others eagerly chat away, asking Galo about the printing company he used. No one else seems to have noticed my momentary outburst.

Taking in a breath, I allow my body to relax and focus on counting to three. Once the initial rage has cooled, I reply to Remi. “Not at all, Remi...don’t mind me.”

Galo Thymos eagerly chats away, and I can’t help but find myself longing to wrap my hands around his neck, to take the smile away. He thinks he’s better than me, doesn’t he? One way or another, I understand I must get a reservation at Porsia. Change my business cards, too--whatever it takes to put Thymos in his place.


End file.
